


In Her Eyes

by effulgentcolors



Series: emma swan loves killian jones [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Romance, nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 16:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8497618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effulgentcolors/pseuds/effulgentcolors
Summary: Everybody talks about how Killian looks at Emma. But do you know how she looks at him?





	

For so long now she has been his second star to the right, his every constellation. She has been the light guiding him home. And Killian thinks it's only natural that he looks at her as such and tries, _tries_ to show her all the love and devotion brewing inside him, more powerful than any storm he has ever weathered.

But he can never quite believe, quite comprehend, when he catches her looking at him. In those moments he swears he has to dig his nails in the flesh of his palm just so he can believe the reality of it, so he knows that yes, this is Emma Swan, looking at him as if he is the most beautful thing she has ever laid eyes on.

It's the way she looks at him when he lays her down on their bed. As if she has waited her whole life to belong and to feel and to touch and to be touched. She lets herself sink into the mattress and looks like she is weightless, floating, completely relaxed and yet buzzing with excitement, with anticipation. And when he touches her she only grows softer and her smile is tender, _so tender_. And when she touches him she is almost hesitant at first, her fingers light and questioning as if she is not quite sure yet that she has this, him. And every time he can pinpoint the exact moment she remembers that he is hers, completely and for always, just like she is his, and in that second her touch starts to burn, and there's magic, the kind of magic only they can create.

It's the way she looks at him when he is playing video games with Henry or working on the lad's swordsmanship. There's a light about her that he has never seen before. It's soft and tender and full, _so full_. She looks at him as if he is the missing piece she has finally managed to unearth. And she looks complete. Like there's nothing else in the world she could ever need or want, like she could stay in the here and now, frozen in her spot, leaning against the full kitchen sink, listening to their shouts and cheers gain volume, watching them and smiling that smile only their home gets to see. And it seems that if this is how she spends every second of every day for the rest of her life, she would be happy - unbelievably, sickeningly, absolutely happy.

It's the way she looks at him when he is drying his hair. Her smile is young, _so young_. He exits the shower and suddenly Emma Swan is a carefree girl again and she just wants to play and laugh and dance in the rain and kiss in the ocean and mess around in the shower and live every single cliché in the book with him. She is just so light. As if the weight of the world is no longer on her shoulders, as if it no longer exists at all. And he is the only one in her world. And then her hands are in his wet hair, pushing it backwards and then forward again and this way and that way until she is giggling and tugging at him and they are tripping and her kisses are sloppy and she just _cannot stop laughing_. And the whole time that young hopeful girl never runs away.

It's the way she looks at him when she is tying his scarf around his neck. Her gaze is soft, _so soft_. And yet so imploring, as if she is willing him to be safe and warm and happy. And it's not just a desire, it's a need. She needs him to be happy, physically, with every fibre of her being, she needs to make him happy. And oh, how well he knows that, since Liam, no one has cared so much for him, no one has put him first, no one has been willing to do anything and everything just so that he will be alright. But now she does. And her eyes, flickering up to his and then shying away, say that she will never let him down and her fingers, brushing against his neck in the barest of caresses, say that she will always take care of him and her lips, firm and warm against his temple, say that he is more important to her that mere words could ever convey. And she looks at him as if he is the most precious thing she has ever held in her hands.

It's the way she looks at him when they have stayed at Granny's till too late. She radiates heat. Her every look, her every feather-light, and supposedly accidental, touch is like a shock of electricity and she seems addicted to the buzz. She eyes are dark and deep, _so deep_. Like the sea the way only a sunk ship sees it. And he thinks that he has sunk too, sunk into her so that there's no way out even if he wanted to find one. But then her teeth tug on her lip and her tongue swipes over them quicly and her pupils are dilated and he starts to realize that she is right there with him, buried beneath the rough, heavy sand that they never want to crawl out of. Her breathing is the slightest bit shallower and, if she is drowning, it doesn't seem like she wants to be saved.

But it's the way she looks at him in the morning.

(And maybe it's because of the way the light illuminates every emotion in her eyes, maybe it's because there's nothing but them in the quiet of the early hours, maybe it's because sometimes he is sleeping and doesn't get to see it but he still _feels_ it. He doesn't know why but this is his favourite.)

Because in the morning, when he can feel the sunlight playing over his face and slowly warming his neck and he can feel the crisp wind lifting the ends of his hair and teasing his ears, she looks like she has found a treasure. A treasure that she has been through hell and back for, one that she has held out hope for even when all hope was lost, one that she still isn't quite sure is real. And sometimes she reaches over and runs her hand over his eyebrow and down his nose and then thumbs at his chin. And she is _so in love_ that he starts thinking he has to be dreaming. But the more her fingers explore his face, the more awed she looks, the amazement and gratitude and wonder in her welling up until she seems ready to burst. And that's when she kisses him. And then he feels it too. The magic. And he knows it's all her, the savior, the princess, his beautiful, powerful, brillian Emma. But her eyes tell him that she doesn't think so. And that's the one he has the most trouble grasping because she believes it's _him_. He knows because he knows that look.

She looks at him as if he is her light.


End file.
